Page 42 of The Ordeals
‘Never …’ I grin and he grins back. His whole being alights and a carefree Alden – a kind, considerate,funAlden – shines through for a handful of heartbeats. ‘All right, I accept. Partners, again. I suppose I am a catch.’
‘I suppose you are.’ He clears his throat, averting his eyes, and seems to collect himself once more, as though he’s stowing the true Alden away. When his gaze locks with mine, everything is as it was before. ‘We need to train for the next Ordeal. Be completely ready for what they’ll throw at us. And as it will beyourarea of wielding expertise …’
I nod quickly, and I imagine threads between us, taut and honeyed only moments ago, suddenly snapping and vanishing completely. ‘Training, yes. I need to train. We need to-to try the wall again.’ I begin ticking things off on my fingers, already planning, plotting. ‘Use the gymnasium, set out a structured regime of workouts—’
‘You really are nothing like I first believed you to be,’ he says quietly.
My cheeks instantly flush. ‘I never pretended to be anything other than what andwhoI am. The person you met in the bar, the wielder who can see illusions, the young woman desperate to walk through the gates of Killmarth areallme.’
His smile is slow and genuine as he bows his head. ‘I meantsimply that it was my mistake for not seeing you as you truly are. Fierce. Strong. A force to be reckoned with.’ And as he looks up, I realise that quite without warning, another reason for clinging to my place here, for staying at Killmarth and carving a future for myself in these halls has inexplicably been added to the list.
Alden Locke.
He sees me. He trulyseesme. Suddenly I feel exposed, as though I’ve been weighed and measured. But not found wanting, no. This man, who is so much more than I first believed, more than a mark, more than a hot distraction in a bar, more than a rival, more than a temporary alliance I formed … heseesme. And it’s the best version of me.
I swallow, searching his face, tracing the shape and depth of his eyes. ‘And mine for not seeing you,’ I say quietly, as an ember I thought would never burn suddenly flares to life.
Chapter 14
Roots
You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. No one knows when the next Ordeal will be and with a murderer on the loose, every hopeful is flinching at shadows. I prepare as best I can, practising my own magic wielding, sitting for hours in my room, learning to hold an illusion for longer. I can stretch the time out now before the headaches pound at my temples, before my nose bleeds and my vision fills with darkness. But I keep it up every day, just like my running loops around the island. Training it like a muscle.
In the hall one day at lunch, a week after my mentor session with Lewellyn, I take it one step further. Creating the illusion of a chair in the middle of the hall, I watch with satisfaction as every hopeful and scholar walks around it, as though it is indeed real and nothing is amiss. To hold an illusion like that, even something inconsequential that reaches into every mind in a packed hall, takes it out of me, but as it gutters out a few moments later, I relax back into my seat, hiding the sudden dizziness overtaking me, electric with the knowledge that Iamimproving with regular practice, little by little. Although Lewellyn was right, and consistency is important, it’s also about using the right kind of lever. About beginning with something a mind might expect, an everyday object, so it’s easier to trick it into believing it’s real. And practise, practise, practise.
In the middle of each day, when the basement level of Gantry is quietest, I sneak into the gymnasium they have down there, meeting Alden as we maintain our fitness and training. It’s little more than a rectangle of brick walls, weights and mats, but I lift, run drills and when another hopeful walks in, feign feminine inferiority by doing everything wrong, allowing Alden to painstakingly correct me as he attempts not to give us away by laughing.
When we hear footsteps on the spiral staircase above us, his eyes flare wide and I quickly drop the barbell I was lifting, pouting and giggling as I pretend I can’t lift it. I turn to Alden as two male hopefuls enter the gymnasium, setting up a station with weights and stretching out, watching us. It’s Richards and Peterson, who were sitting at our table with Mallory when he was poisoned, who had that same animal gleam in their eyes when they regarded me. I recognise them instantly, both botanists, both the type to linger threateningly and flex their pumped-up biceps.
I sigh loudly, placing a hand on my hip. ‘But Alden, it’s too heavy. I could break a nail and you know it took ages to grow out after I tore it in the Morlagh …’
Alden covers a snort with a cough, and squats to lift the barbell perfectly, before placing it back on the mat. ‘Maybe just focus on something lighter. We can go through squats again?’
Both Richards and Peterson are listening intently as I roll my eyes theatrically and stalk for the edge of the mat, as I round on Alden. It’s hard, because we’re both trying to hide our smirks. ‘Whatever. I hate being down here. It smells like old socks. Let’s call it a day.’
When I walk slowly up the spiral staircase, glancing sidelong at the two hopefuls, they’re entirely focused on their own workout and, inwardly, I sigh with relief. I want no one to mark me as anything but a shadow, the weak partner that Alden Locke is draggingalong behind him, a weight he’s tied to now, that weakens him and makes him less of a threat as well. But as his hands sometimes brush my skin or land on my waist as we’re training together, I begin to look forward to this casual contact. If I’m honest with myself, even to crave more.
When I run through combat routines like I used to with the Collector, using a bar like a weighted stake, Alden joins me. It’s not until he stops me, moving behind me to place his hands on the bar, arms around my own to alter my hand positions and counter the strain on my wrists, that I realise I’m actually quite enjoying it. The heat from his body pressed against mine, the careful adjustments to my stance, the way he flicks up his eyebrows when he’s impressed by something … training fast becomes my favourite part of the day.
Especially the hand-to-hand combat. Sometimes, I’ll make a wrong move on purpose just so he flips me onto the mat, pinning me down. Those moments when we’re inches apart, when his body, slick with sweat, is pressed along the length of me, I can’t help wondering what other positions we could get into. And when he takes his time moving off me, gaze darkening as it slides from my eyes to my lips, I wonder if he’s thinking the same.
On a day when the gymnasium is deserted, I finally manage to pinhimdown. He hits the mat like a felled tree and I waste no time, squeezing my thighs around him, leaning my forearm against his throat. He chuckles, hands grasping me round the waist, pulling me over so he’s on top.
‘We need to work on your headlocks,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m starting to think you like me on top.’
I huff a breath, swinging myself out from under him and, this time, I get him in arealheadlock. ‘Tell me what I need to work on again,’ I say huskily into his ear. We lock eyes. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. His hands are by his sides on the mat and Iwish he’d try to tackle me. But he doesn’t. So I take my time before releasing him and then he says, all casual, as though he has no idea every word doesn’t send sparks dancing in my veins, ‘Fair enough on the headlock. And you can be on top anytime, just so you know.’
Stepping away, I’m aware of his eyes, watching me as I walk over to the weights, and smile.
Twelve days after the Ordeal of Poisons, the first lecture unfolds. It’s the first time since the welcome reception that all of us hopefuls have been in one room, and a perfect opportunity to covertly study my rivals. I sit at the back, watching them all fidget, some with notebooks and pens laid out with precision on the desks before them, some lounging back in their chairs, or whispering quietly. Tessa sits beside me, Alden a few seats away, and a great blackboard faces us, the ghost of white chalk running over its surface in a web of lines and old words.
I lean back, press my lips together and file away any details I can about each and every one of them. It’s like having a whole roomful of marks, not just one, and I relish the challenge. There are the botanists who are mostly jock types, the masquiers who are mostly intelligent and strategic, then there are the illusionists like me, quiet and secretive. Watchful. Most of them have grouped together according to what they wield, but Tessa, Greg and I are kind of the outliers. Even Alden still spends a lot of time with the other botanists, probably comparing notes on how long they can grow their vines.
‘Aha! At last, I’ve found the right room.’ Professor Hess strides in, rubbing his hands together and behind him is Professor Lewellyn. ‘This, for the benefit of any hopefuls not mentored by her, is my fellow professor and one of the very best illusionists and historians of our generation. Professor Lewellyn.’
She taps along the wooden floorboards in her low, square-toedblack heels and pauses to survey us. She’s wearing the same style twinset as she did at the Crucible, paired with a checked wool skirt and a string of creamy pearls at her throat. Everything about her is neat and unremarkable, from her pressed clothes to her pale skin, to her mousy brown hair and eyes. For the first time, I wonder if that’s intentional. If she is hiding in plain sight, just as I have done so many times before. Of course, now I’ve seen her work on the window in her office and unpicked it, I know just how talented she truly is.
Lewellyn clears her throat, eyes flicking to Hess, then back to us. ‘Welcome to your first lecture, hopefuls. Now that you’ve survived the first Ordeal and the weakest have been weeded out or have left Killmarth of their own accord, the college will now allow me to teach you. As you’ve probably gathered, the first Ordeal is designed to test more than magic, because magic is only as strong as the wielder.You. I am Professor Hester Lewellyn and just four short years ago, I was sitting where you are now.’
